


Shakes My Soul Like A Pot Hole

by whisperingwind



Series: epilepsy 'verse [13]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Epilepsy, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Neurological Disorders, Protectiveness, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 23:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10501815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperingwind/pseuds/whisperingwind
Summary: "Harry love, relax. Look at me, I’m here, I’m right here.” he tries touching his younger husband’s face to see why exactly he’s bleeding so much, but Harry whimpers, frantically shoving at Louis’ hands. “Relax for me babes, it’s okay. Shh, I know, but you’re okay.”Or, as they grow older epilepsy grows with them, and Harry has a seizure during a wedding.Title from "Hearts Don't Break Around Here" by Ed Sheeran





	

“This doesn’t look strange does it?” Kyra asks, turning to face Harry. “This is a wedding afterall, not a bloody strip show.” she huffs, indicating her cleavage. “Is this too much boob?”

“As your father, I don’t know that I can answer that.” Harry laughs under his breath. “I think you look beautiful, love. Don’t worry about it.”

Kyra sighs at him, and turns around once more, staring at herself through the full body mirror. She wears a white jumpsuit, while her wife to be, Victoria wears a white gown. Initially, they were both going to wear dresses, but frankly, they’re both clumsy, and the odds of tripping over one another’s dress were great.

The sleeves on her jumpsuit are made of a thin lace material, they mold together in the front to create a plunging neckline. Clinging to her thighs and bum, the material, as it inches closer to her ankles, begins to flare . “I don’t know, dad. What if her family -” she starts to ask.

Harry interrupts her, “You mean the family you’ve known for five bloody years? I think you’ll be just fine.”

She meets his eyes through the mirror, shaking her head. “I’m just so fucking nervous.” As soon as the word rolls off her tongue, she receives a dirty look from Harry, and instantly corrects her language. “Sorry! Sorry, I forgot who I was talking to.”

In the last few years, their father-daughter relationship has flourished, and Harry is grateful for it. He thought he was going to live the rest of his life with knowledge of his daughter hating him. Afterall, she acted hostile and crude toward him from the time she was eleven to the time she was eighteen.

Their feelings towards one another began to change after one particularly crucial conversation. It happened one weekend when Kyra returned home from studying at university - deciding to attend after forming the conclusion she needed to educate herself in order to accomplish something productive with her life - and out of nowhere, she invited Harry, and only Harry, to join her for breakfast one morning before everyone in the house was even awake.

He wasn’t opposed to it, at all, in fact he was secretly ecstatic his daughter wanted to actively spend time with him.

Though, once at the diner, they didn’t speak more than a few words. While she cautiously picked through her banana pancakes and scrambled eggs, he ate his french toast in silence, struggling to use the fork, placed in his right hand, to pull the sweet bread apart into edible pieces.

“Do you need help?” she asked, realizing he was genuinely struggling to eat his breakfast.

Obviously, Harry understood he needed help with some basic tasks, which was half the battle, but accepting was the other half. The neuropathic pain progressed quickly, and the use of the cane became a daily necessity. Performing tasks with his hands also started to become tedious and difficult. “If you wouldn’t mind.” he answered, swallowing his pride.

She didn’t utter another word as she cut his two pieces of french toast into small, bite-sized pieces. The waitresses and hosts whom happened to walk by had no issue staring them down as though they were apart of an experiment gone wrong, and to be honest, Harry felt invaded because of how rude they presented themselves.

A few more minutes had passed, Harry ate very slowly, then finally Kyra spoke, “I’m going to transfer universities.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Harry went silent.

“I want to be a paramedic, dad,” she hesitated for a moment, animosity exiting her tone, “so I can help people.”

Her reasoning came out moments later. Her change of heart was due to having time to become independent and explore her options.

She then confessed he inspired her to help people, and she owed finding her identity to him. “Thank you for never giving up on me” she had said, teary-eyed, then continued to apologize for the grief she caused him over the years.

She swore she never meant a word of the cruel things she said. Between having not found her identity, refusing to accept her sexual orientation, feeling as though she had to hide her feelings for women, she never took the time to understand his condition and why it was so important to their family dynamic. She never understood why it was a priority for Louis, and she felt foolish for it because it was right in front of her eyes all those years.

It was a prerogative due to the severity, and if proper precautions weren't in place, he could very well break crucial bones, or worse, asphyxiate.

They spoke for hours, leaving the diner halfway through to sit in the car and discuss the faults of their relationship. After the fact, Harry felt as though he truly understood his daughter and recognized who she was as a young adult.

Upon returning home that afternoon, Louis appeared a bit confused, but spoke nothing of them acting civil together because they could finally call themselves a family.

As Harry watches Kyra in front of him now, he can’t help but smile.

“Do you think my hair piece looks alright?” she fusses, facing him. Her dark brunette hair is pulled back into a low bun, while a few curled tendrils frame her face. A large white flower is tucked into her hair, presumably pinned in, so it doesn’t fall out mid ceremony.

Harry balances himself on his cane, then touches her face with the back of his hand. “Like I said, you look beautiful. Everything’s perfect.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks dad.” After she pulls away and begins to slip her white heel on, she freezes, one shoe on, one shoe off. “Where did papa run off to? We’re running behind!”

“He’s helping Lydia put her dress on Ky, relax. She can’t reach the back zipper, it’s a complicated dress for a seven year old.” Lydia is the flower girl, as the only little girl from both families who would is able to comprehend the idea of walking in a straight line while tossing rose petals.

Victoria, heritage wise, is a mix of Irish and Italian. It’s fair to say her family is a large - and rowdy - group of people. Their wedding party is huge with seven bridesmaids made up of three of Victoria’s sisters, family friends - Liam’s daughter Violet, Zayn’s twin daughters, Aamilah and Haiza - and finally the maid of honor, sixteen year old Sylvia. Then, there are seven groomsmen to match consisting of two of Victoria’s brothers, Niall’s son - and Sylvia’s boyfriend - Colin, and more friends.

Not to mention, there are over three hundred people celebrating at the banquet hall after the ceremony.

“You’re good to walk, right?” Kyra asks, peering down at Harry’s cane before meeting his eyes.

Rather than choosing one of her dads over the other, she’s having both of them walk her down the aisle, one on each side.

Harry nods, “I’ll be fine. Now, will you quit fussing? Today’s your big day! Enjoy yourself, yeah?”

“I know, I know, but I want everything to be perfect. I mean- your wedding with papa was so beautiful.” she gushes, nervously picking at her pale purple acrylic nails. “I want mine to be great, too.”

“And it will be, believe me.” Harry promises, taking her hand in his. “Do you know how many things went wrong on our wedding day? I’ll tell you, too many to count. Half the wedding party didn’t show up, everyone was drunk and arguing like mad, it was insane.”

Kyra chuckles. “I would have never guessed that from the videos. At least you were in Barcelona.”

“Love, our wedding was so expensive, I’m talking millions of dollars, and I’m not going to say it wasn’t worth it, but - “

She finishes his thought. “It wasn’t worth it.”

“What wasn’t worth what?” Louis asks, entering the dressing room with Lydia on his shoulders, despite both of their fancy attires. The primary color for the wedding is purple. So, everyone in the wedding party is either in a light purple dress or tie.

“Nothing dear.” Harry quips, quickly, faking an innocent smile.

Louis narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Sure Styles. Keep it up, and there will be no Louis for you ever again.”

Despite having taken the name Tomlinson years ago, Louis still finds humor in calling him by his original surname.

“Please do us all a favor, and don’t ever say that again.” Kyra mutters, trying to clear her head of the nauseating thought of her parents having sex.

Louis laughs, clutching onto Lydia’s sides as he lifts her off his shoulders and places her on the floor. Immediately, she flocks to Harry, hugging him around the waist. “Hi daddy.” she giggles.

Harry exaggerates a gasp. “My goodness, you look like a princess!” he cards his hand through her bouncy red curls. “Princess Lydia.”

“No! Sissy is a princess, my princess.” Lydia argues, pulling away from Harry to stand near Kyra. “Can I have my picture papa?” she asks, looking to Louis. Louis pulls a crumpled up piece of neon pink construction paper and hands it to her. “This is for you.” she says, proudly, holding it out for Kyra to take.

“For me?” Kyra pretends to be shocked, kneeling down to take the piece of paper. She straightens it out, and drawn on it is what Kyra and Harry - leaning over her shoulder - assume to be a portrait of her with the words ‘I love my sissy’ written in all caps. “Aw, Lydia this is so sweet, thank you. Can I have a hug?” she engulfs her sister in between her arms, holding her tightly. “I love you so, so much.”

Lydia laughs, burying her face against Kyra’s face. Louis and Harry exchange a glance, smiling at one another.

No more than a minute later, one of Victoria’s sisters comes into the room, telling them that it’s time for the wedding to begin. The nerves set in after that point, but they walk as a family to the waiting area, where the entire wedding party is waiting, along with Victoria and her mother.

As soon as the music begins to play, the bridesmaids and groomsmen find their pairs, and walk down the aisle, then Sylvia proceeds, walking arm and arm with one of Victoria’s brothers who is the best man.

Before either of the girls walks down the aisle, it’s Lydia’s turn, so Louis reminds her of what she has to do, then sends her on her way. Thankfully, she does a wonderful job, and finds her Aunt Lottie so she has a seat and doesn't disrupt the ceremony.

Victoria walks down the aisle with her mother first in elongated strides, and finally Kyra follows, Harry on her left and Louis on her right. Even with the slow pace Harry has to walk at because of his cane, it works because the grand entrance is relatively slow anyways.

Once at the altar, they each press a kiss to her cheek, departing her, and have a seat between Victoria’s mother and Liam. “You two must be so proud.” Liam whispers. “I know I am.”

“You have no idea.” Louis beams, smiling widely at Kyra and Victoria.

The officiant reads nearly the exact same words Harry and Louis and others heard on their wedding day, but the day is still magical in every way. The unity of love, two becoming one, is always a precious sight.

It’s about halfway through the ceremony, and no interruptions have occurred until a high pitched whine peels itself from Harry’s throat.

Louis glances at him, watching as his jaw uncontrollably clenches and juts forward. Harry’s eyes are expressionless as if there’s not really a living, breathing human sat beside him. A few seconds pass, then Harry comes to, rubbing the underside of his jaw with the heel of his palm. His nose twitches once, twice, three times, then another soft cry leaves his mouth.

Needlessly said, they recieve quite a few stares as people jerk their heads around to look at them. Even Kyra looks towards them, eyes wide, but Louis shakes his head as if telling her there’s nothing to fret.

He doesn’t pay much attention to the stares they’re receiving, rather he reaches over for Harry’s hand, intertwining their fingers, squeezing as he asks, “Are you okay? Do you want to step out for a moment?”

Harry shakes his head. “Just a small one. I’m fine.” he mutters, referencing the seizure he’s just had moments beforehand. Sitting up straight, Louis hears his joints crack, and brushes the pad of his thumb over Harry’s taut flesh. As content as he is to hear that the seizure is only that of a minor one, he still worries. It’s never been uncommon for Harry’s seizures to start off petite, then grow into something more serious, like a grand mal.

“Alright, just let me know if it starts to get worse, yeah?” Louis asks, and Harry only nods, refusing to verbally answer him. He’s embarrassed, and if his actions didn’t declare it, then certainly his flushed cheeks and quiet demeanor do.

Their focus falls back on their darling daughter stood at the altar opposite her wife to be. Louis has never seen Kyra look so soft and happy. Her makeup is done naturally, light brown eyeshadow and a subtle pink lip to compliment her sharp contrasting features.

She smiles at Victoria, shyly, her eyes shifting downcast on her hands. “She looks beautiful doesn’t she?” Louis whispers, turning his head to look at Harry who’s gone pale. He touches his cheek with the back of his hand, instantly feeling how clammy and feverish he’s gotten. “Harry?”

“I’m fine, Louis. Yes, she looks gorgeous.” Harry replies, his tone dry, as he pulls away from Louis’ touch.

And so Louis leaves him alone, sitting beside him silently, hands clasped together on his lap, as their family friend leads Kyra and Victoria into reciting their vows to one another.

It’s quite sweet to see Kyra become teary-eyed and choked up as Victoria references her eternal love for her, smiling as the words fall off her tongue with ease.

A sniffle from Harry pulls Louis’ attention from his daughter, but only a fond grin crosses his expression as he sees Harry trying to conceal his tears as he watches their beautiful little girl, who's a real-life grown up now.

“Is someone a little emotional?” he teases, nudging Harry’s arm. Of course Harry shakes his head, sitting up right, pretending as though this whole fiasco is a figment of Louis’ imagination. “How precious.” he coos, then leans his head on his husband’s shoulder.

“They’re so in love, oh my God.” Sylvia gushes to Liam’s daughter Violet who, with her striking resemblance to Liam, nods along, laughing. “I hope someone loves me that much one day.”

“Oh, pssh Colin already does, silly.” Violet whispers in her ear, retracting with another boisterous laugh.

Liam’s wife, Sophia, glances at them, pointer finger raised in the air, mouthing, “Girls, please be quiet.” A beat of silence passes, then the girls laugh once more. Truthfully, no one is mad. As a matter of fact everyone is content with the quiet giggles and hushed voices as it represents solidity of two families combining to form one.

A round of applause and cheering proceeds as soon as the words, “No longer simply partners and best friends, you have become wife and wife and can now seal the agreement with a kiss.  
Today, your kiss is a promise. You may kiss the bride” leave the officiant’s mouth.

Although Harry has a palm to shield his eyes as he cries tears of joy, Louis doesn’t find himself tearing up until his beautiful daughter and daughter-in-law abandon the altar to travel to the venue where the reception is being held.

“You don’t have to cry, doll.” Louis whispers, brushing a strand of Harry’s hair behind his ear. “You’re too pretty to cry.”

Harry smiles at him past his tear-stained cheeks, “I’m so proud of her.”

“Me too.”

From the venue, they drive to the banquet hall, where over a hundred cars are already parked. They’re lining the parking lot, from Range Rovers to Masseratis to Chevrolets and everything in between, all manufacturers can be found somewhere.

Louis and Harry walk in, side by side, Lydia holding Harry’s hand as they enter the hall. Every inch of the ballroom is decorated. Among these decorations are purple balloons, lights - ones that don’t flash, of course - streamers, and photos of each girl with their beloved friends and family.

“Whoa, look at the lights daddy!” Lydia yells, mouth open in awe as she absorbs the scenery of this very exorbitant reception.

Harry laughs in agreement, “It’s so colorful. I’m in love.”

“Come on you two goofs, let’s find our table.” Louis announces, leading the way until he spots Sylvia, Colin, Niall, and his girlfriend, Sarah. Upon closer inspection, Sylvia is quite literally sat in Colin’s lap, his arms wrapped around her, as the two of them laugh at something Niall’s said.

She lays her head against his shoulder, smiling widely. Colin is a spitting image of Niall when he was seventeen, except he doesn’t dye his hair blonde, rather chooses to stay brunet, and he has his late mother’s eyes, a dark brown color.

“Well hello lovebirds!” Louis greets, loudly, forcing Colin and Sylvia to jerk away from each other. The two of them flush to a dark red, and Sylvia fidgets with the bustier part of her dress. “Hi Niall, Sarah.”

As the group of them exchange greetings Louis pulls an empty chair out for Harry, knowing his leg must be killing him after the excruciating walk in from the walking lot. They speak for a while, and both Kyra and Victoria come over to check on them a few times, along with a few other recognizable faces like their sisters and friends.

Victoria and Kyra cut into the massive cake after dinner has been served, sharing the first slice among the two of them. They feed each other a forkful, so everyone can snap a few pictures, then a team of waiters enters to slice it and pass it out to all the guests.

“Do you want a piece, love?” Louis asks, nodding towards the cake. Harry didn’t eat dinner, or rather he had a bite of steak, turned a pale shade of green, then pushed the rest of his food away. Blatantly, Louis is concerned because Harry’s behavior became melancholy expeditiously.

Harry shakes his head, mumbling, “Not hungry.”

“Don’t you think you should put something on your stomach?” Louis asks, keeping his voice low. No one needs to hear their conversation.

“I’m fine.”

Louis stares at him, but sighs, refusing to say anything else about it for the time being. By the time a waiter puts a piece of cake in front of him, Niall and Sarah have left the table to join the growing group of dancers on the floor currently, leaving the two of them and the three kids.

After only a few bites of cake, Louis becomes full. The frosting is rich and sweet. It’s delicious, truthfully it is, but unfortunately he enjoys sweets as much as he did in his younger days. “It's really good cake babes, are you sure you don't want some?” Louis asks and uses his fork to scoop a frosted piece off the top, offering it to Harry.

Harry doesn't answer him, preoccupied with stirring his ice water with a straw. He hasn’t said much of anything in awhile, even when Colin and Sylvia talk to him, he gives them a half-smile and a uninterested nod of his head.

Needless to say, it’s very odd behavior for him. Although he doesn’t love any of his daughters more than the others, he’s been closest with Sylvia - his Sylvie as he calls her - from the day they adopted her and brought her home. He has never intentionally tuned her out

“Harry.” Louis tries again, nudging his foot with his own. This time the younger lad looks to him, eyes glossy and bloodshot. “You alright over there?”

Harry nods, picking at the tablecloth with clumsy fingers.

“Dad?” Sylvia sounds concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Again, Harry nods.

“Why don’t you try this cake? Just a spoonful.” Louis encourages, holding the spoon up to his husband’s lips, no longer giving him a choice. Harry opens his mouth, and Louis very gently pushes the spoon past his lips. “Do you like it?” he asks after a moment of Harry chewing.

“It's good.” Harry answers, dryly. He doesn’t seem impressed. Though, Louis is content, so content that he pretends he doesn't see Harry spitting the cake into a napkin and tucking it onto the plate with the other untouched food.

Suddenly, the DJ’s voice booms over the murmurs of the guests. “Can we get everyone to clear the dance floor, so our two brides can have their first dance?”

Kyra was torn between Harry and Louis when it came to choosing who to share the first dance with, but ultimately she asked Harry - partially because Louis pushed her to - and now it should be his chance to step in.

Yet he doesn’t move as though nobody’s said a word about the matter. “H, you need to get up to dance with Kyra.” Louis reminds, and slowly it settles in his mind because he reaches for his cane and stands. Louis grabs his hand, interlocking their fingers before he has the chance to walk out to the dance floor. “Are you okay to do this?”

He mumbles something incomprehensible under his breath, pulling away from Louis’ touch. Slowly trudging to the center of the dance floor, Kyra is waiting for him, and takes his cane from him, moving it to the side. Instead of the aid, she uses his arm to hold himself upright, and his other hand lays flat on the small of her back.

Victoria stands beside them with her mother, but instead of her mother holding onto her arm with one hand, their fingers are interlocked.

The intro to “I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing” by Aerosmith plays. It’s a song Kyra and Victoria mutually agreed on because it has a lot of meaning behind it and it’s one of Harry’s favorite songs.

“I’m glad we have the opportunity to do this. I love you, dad.” Kyra whispers, meeting his stern green eyes. She can tell somethings a bit off with his demeanor, but chooses not to mention it. This is their moment to shine, and she can see Louis filming it out of the corner of her eyes.

“I love you too.” he says, voice gone soft. “You looked beautiful up there.”

“I felt so loved and adored, like a princess.” she admits, laughing.

The corners of Harry’s lips pull into a smile. “I suppose Lyddie was right then.”

Kyra smiles. “I guess she was. Are you proud of me dad?”

“Always, love.” Harry answers without hesitation. “I’ve always been proud of you.”

Their conversation ends there for the most part, and the steady rhythm of the music guides them in their slow dancing.

Gradually, the music dies down, and the DJ invites everyone to the dance floor with a rendition of the Hokey Pokey.

She fetches his cane for him, and kisses his cheek before joining her wife’s family members in their social dance.

Harry returns to the table, and immediately, as soon as Louis starts to tell him how heart-warming their father-daughter dance was, he can tell something isn’t right. The younger man takes a seat and reaches for his glass of ice water, but dumps it all over the tablecloth due to how severely his hands are shaking.

“Harry, what’s the matter?” Louis asks, observing Harry closely. “Harry.” he repeats, putting his hand over top of Harry’s trembling one.

Sylvia watches, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. She knows better than to say anything in this current predicament, but she can’t help feeling panicked.

“Here, put the glass down, come on.” Louis encourages, slowly guiding Harry to set the glass on the table before he drops it. “Now, what’s going on? What’s the matter?”

“My leg.” Harry mutters.

Louis doesn’t quite understand. “What about it? Does it hurt?”

Harry nods. “Really badly.”

“You’re due for your medication anyway. Let’s go to the bathroom, and I’ll help you take it.” Louis decides, no option on Harry’s behalf, and stands, holding his hand out for Harry to take.

Harry’s been taking injections for his epilepsy for years now, and they seem to help more than the oral pills, although nothing has ever ridded him of seizures completely. They’re less tedious than pills, which is good, but they’re a pain because they take more time and effort.

“We’ll be back, Sylvia. Keep an eye on your sister.” Louis calls over his shoulder as he walks at a leisurely pace with Harry so he doesn’t trip over his feet and take a tumble.

Colin meets Sylvia’s eyes. “Do you reckon he’s okay? He looked a little poorly.”

“I mean...I hope so.” she sighs.

Once in the bathroom, Louis shuts the door behind them, and nods for Harry to lean against the counter. “Do you have your kit in your pocket?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Harry whispers, begins to reach for it, but can’t grasp it properly because of the growing tremors in his hands.

Louis pushes his hand aside, pulling the plain black case out of his dress pants, “It’s alright, I’ve got it.” He unzips it and pulls the dispenser out. Then, proceeds to slip a fresh needle into it.

“Pull your trousers down a bit, okay? I’m gonna stick it in your leg, so you don’t bleed through your blouse.” Louis explains, though he could probably go without. He flicks the cap off the tip, and mentally counts to three before jabbing it into Harry’s flesh. His husband tenses a bit, gripping the countertop, but he’s well-versed in injections, so it hardly hurts anymore. Louis presses the button down, allowing a few seconds to pass before removing the needle. “All right?” he asks, gently rubbing the skin the needle poked through.

No matter how many times he does it, he always manages to feel guilty for it, despite knowing Harry needs it.

“Good, yeah.” Harry replies, adjusting his posture.

“You’re sure?”

Harry nods, “I’m fine.”

“Alright.” Louis sighs, tossing the used needle in the trash, and places a new one in the delivering mechanism. “You know, H. I was thinking, maybe we should renew our vows.” He goes to the sink to wash his hands, and he must be turned around for only ten seconds, but in those ten seconds everything goes to shit.

Harry tries to speak, tries to enunciate Louis’ name, through heaving breaths, stumbling over clumsy feet as he attempts to move closer.

Louis doesn’t comprehend it, rather he assumes Harry is thinking over his suggestion. Perhaps, he could have gone about it in a more sentimental way, or rather proposed to him again. It isn’t until he hears the cane clatter to the floor like loose change he turns, and by that time, he’s already a moment too late.

“No, no, no.” he blurts out, dashing forward, though he isn’t fast enough. By the time he turns and reaches out for Harry, the younger man is already making face to industrial contact with the granite countertop, chin slamming off the corner of it.

The pain registers with Harry very quickly, apparent from his tears as soon as he crumbles to the floor. Louis drops to his knees, hands hesitating over his husband, the rest of his body frozen. He begins to mentally walk himself through the steps he needs to take.

Harry’s curled in on himself, sprawled on the tiled floor of a public restroom, fucking sobbing, as blood literally floods out of his mouth and masses into puddle. He’s trying his hardest to say Louis’ name, so hard that the two syllables of his name are coming out in rough, constricted wheezes.

“Harry love, relax. Look at me, I’m here, I’m right here.” he tries touching his younger husband’s face to see why exactly he’s bleeding so much, but Harry whimpers, frantically shoving at Louis’ hands. “Relax for me babes, it’s okay. Shh, I know, but you’re okay.”

He remains relatively calm, hands slowly residing flat, palms down, on his thighs. Upon closer inspection, Louis sees crimson is mostly flooding out of Harry’s bottom lip. His teeth must have clamped down when he fell, blatantly hard enough to tear his gums.

“Stay still for me love.” The inside of his mouth must be a mess with the amount of blood seeping past his lips. Then, Harry starts coughing, bringing his hand up to wipe his mouth, but he just smears the blood across his face. “No, no, hey can you sit up for me? Just a second love. I know you don’t feel good, I know it’s coming, but we’ve got to get some of that blood out of your mouth.”

He doesn’t know what to do because there’s so much, and it’s coming out like a faucet. Harry starts coughing again, and it causes more blood to splatter. “Alright, let me see, let me see, it’s okay.” Louis whispers, gripping under Harry’s armpits and tries to pull him into a sitting position, so the blood doesn’t roll down the back of his throat, but Harry fights him, tensing at his touch.

Needlessly said, Harry’s too weak to push Louis off, so the altercation ends with Harry’s leaning against his chest, sat between his legs, hardly conscious with his head lolled against Louis’ shoulder. Blood is literally dripping down his chin now, staining the front of his dress shirts, and he won’t stop coughing, which is making it worse.

“It’s alright love. I’ve got you, can I see? Let me see. I won’t hurt you, okay?” He grabs Harry’s bottom lip, pulling it outwards, despite his husband moaning and trying to slap his hand away, and as soon as he does, he can see where his teeth have literally gone through his bottom lip and gums. “Fucking hell.” Louis whispers, running his finger over the holes. He can’t even begin to imagine the amount of force that his teeth had to come down with for them to go through his fucking lip, not to mention how painful it must be.

No wonder Harry is fussing so severely. As if things couldn’t get worse, Harry starts to cry, shrieking against Louis as his body goes rigid. Every last muscle of his tenses, forcing him taut, as Louis holds him. “No, no, no, it’s gonna be okay.” Louis whispers in his ear, kissing the side of his head. “Let’s get you back on the floor, okay?” He asks, though rhetorical, knowing Harry is past the point of speaking, let alone answering him.

Very gently, he holds Harry’s side while his other clutches his shoulder, and guides him back to the floor.

Harry slowly pulls his limbs inward, though unintentional, shrinking like a turtle does when it’s fearful, and whimpers as the seizure starts to push through his body.

“It's alright lovey, shh, you're alright.” Louis whispers, brushing his hair from his face, revealing a large red patch, which is bound to swell and bruise. “Keep breathing through it, it’ll be over before you know it. I’m right here, not going anywhere, promise.”

Harry wants to move, Louis can tell by the way his muscles are pulled, and it takes everything in Louis to not help him. He shouldn't touch him past this point, he understands that much.

But God, the fucking veins in his neck are visible from how hard he's straining.

“Love, you've gotta stop. It's gonna hurt worse if you don't.” Louis reminds, grazing Harry’s arm every so gently. “Stop, please? For me?”

Harry’s eyes are lethargic, at best, as they roll behind his eyelids to get a proper glance at Louis. The starting consonant of Louis’ name begins to slip off his tongue, but then, nothing. Nothing until whimpering ensues and Harry’s a withering mess on the floor.

“Shit, alright, it's okay bub, you're okay,” Louis encourages, cradling his hand under Harry’s head to create a barrier between hair and tile. “I've got you, love.”

Meanwhile, Kyra looks to the empty table where her parents were once sat. Sylvia is still there, wiping Lydia’s lips free of pale blue frosting, while her boyfriend Colin, watches with an endearing expression.

“What's the matter pet?” Victoria frowns, standing near the table as her wife stays seated, as she has for nearly ten minutes, though there's plenty to do and plenty of people to greet.

Kyra looks surprised, “Huh?”

“What's going on, Ky? You seem...upset, are you not having a good time?” she asks, pulling her dress up as she takes a seat in the empty chair beside Kyra.

“No,” Kyra shakes her head, meeting Victoria’s brown eyes, “no I’m having a great time, don’t worry about silly little me, okay?”

Victoria hesitates, looks to Sylvia and Colin for a moment, then the thought strikes her, very suddenly. “I haven’t seen your dads in a while, where are they?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” she shrugs, nonchalant, as though their absence isn’t bothering her in the slightest. “Bathroom, maybe?” Nervously, she tucks loose strands of her dark brunette hair behind her ear, glancing away from her wife. She doesn’t want her to know how anxiety-ridden she feels internally because well, this is supposed to be their day, and she can solely worry about her dad, without her wife trying to console her.

Victoria doesn’t speak for a moment, watching Kyra’s every movement. Most have the ability to tell when another is uncomfortable, and it’s clear that Kyra is rather troubled. Considering the flush across her face and rapid eye movement, it isn’t too difficult.

She leans in, fixing the material of Kyra’s jumpsuit, so it lays properly against her breasts. “How’s your dad been doing anyway? Better?”

“Louis tells us only what he wants us kids to know.” Kyra replies, returning courtesy by facing her olive-skinned lover as she speaks. She only speaks of her dads on a first name basis to create a more clear conversation. “So he says Harry’s doing better, but from what I’ve seen he’s doing the same. A little less miserable than usual, maybe.”

Victoria nods in understanding. “I know it’s hard, but just be glad he’s here to see you married, yeah? I wish my dad could have been here.”

“I’m grateful that,” Kyra starts to say, then hesitates, swallowing, “that we were able to work out our differences.”

Victoria offers a smile, kissing her cheek, “That’s my girl, I love you.”

Then, in a matter of seconds, Victoria is swept away by one of her boisterous uncles, system full of alcohol. He has her wrist engulfed in the claw he calls a hand, dragging her out to the center of the dance floor, where a group of irishmen - Niall included - clack their feet to the rhythm of Irish Folk Music.

She trips over her dress once, twice, then three times before finally tangling her heel in the sheer material and tumbling backward onto the floor. Though as soon as her back touches tile, she’s hysterical, doubled over laughing even as her uncle helps her to her feet.

Kyra can’t help but smile. What a free spirit her wife is, and all she can manage to think, over and over, is: how is she all mine?

She imagines her dads’ wedding was very similar in atmosphere. Through the countless old family videos she’s seen, even with damage to their quality and definition, she can see how much they love each other.

Every single word of their vows was heartfelt and candid. In fact, Harry could hardly speak, a trembling mess, as he proclaimed how the love he felt for Louis could never be measured nor copied, and proceeded to then thank him for giving him purpose to live and strength to accomplish unfathomable things. Then, after a long pause, Louis broke down on the altar, and though it was for all the right reasons, it pulls at Kyra’s heartstrings every time.

Clips from the reception are both endearing and special. Watching the two of them slow dance to ‘Perfect’ by Ed Sheeran while all guests are silent, observing them in awe as they step in rhythm, is made Kyra crave a love like theirs. While it may be imperfect, and at times frustrating, their love is powerful and dare she say, revolutionary. Something is to be learned from the two of them and their ability to deal with struggle.

Perhaps that’s why, as an adult, she feels ridiculously guilty. Her parents struggled for years, and as a child and teenager all she could bring herself to do was cause larger issues for them. Afterall, she was cruel to Harry, never taking the time to properly address his emotions or her course of action, and for that, she’ll always feel remorse.

“Ky?” Sylvia asks, standing at the opposing end of the round table. Her eyebrows are furrowed in confusion, while her fingers fiddle with the petals of a purple carnation decorating the centerpiece,

Kyra glances at her, “Yeah?”

“Where did dad and pop go?” she asks, sounding concerned. “I can’t find them anywhere, and pop won’t answer his phone.”

Kyra shrugs her shoulders, “Dunno, but I’ll keep an eye out, okay? Don’t worry.”

“You really shouldn’t say that.” Sylvia answers, dryly. “Overthinking is a fundamental this family runs on.”

Kyra rolls her eyes. “I’m serious, you know how the two of them are. They disappear for a little while, and then come back without explanation. Have a dance with Colin or something, and forget about it.”

“Yeah, easy for you to fucking say.” Sylvia grumbles, sharply turning on her heel and trudging back over to Colin and Lydia. At least she takes Kyra’s advice, gathering the two of them up, and leads them out to the dance floor, where they form a small circle, swinging Lydia in the air as they sway to the folk music.

She can hear giggles even from where she’s sat, and a small smile crosses her lips as she watches her littlest sister. A moment passes, she stands, with a heavy heart, and walks down the hall to the bathroom to freshen herself up. Assuming she’ll feel better after a few pats of cold water to her cheeks and a pep talk through the mirror.

Her white pumps rap against the floorboards with each stride she takes until finally approaching the restroom door. Shoving it open without second thought, she stops after two steps in, door slamming shut behind her as she gasps at the sight before her.

Harry withering on the floor, blood seeping past his lips and a laceration on his head, while Louis cradles his head, whispering sweet encouraging words, “It’s alright, it’s starting to slow down love, you’re okay.”

Kyra’s eyes widen. “I- oh my God.” she breathes, treading closer to them.

It’s as though the noise of the door banging shut hadn’t even phased Louis, but the sound of his daughter’s voice has from years of tending to her. “Oi, it’s alright Ky. He’s starting to digress, you don’t want to get blood on your pretty clothes.”

“Papa, I’m a paramedic because I want to help people,” she argues, wincing ever so slightly at her dad’s whimpering, “especially my own father.”

Louis doesn’t put up an argument, rather looks back to Harry, grazing his chest with nimble fingertips. “You’re alright, I’ve got you, shh, it’s almost over.”

And he’s right, as he usually is with the timing of his husband’s seizures, Harry’s convulsing slowly starts to come to a halt.

Kyra drops to her knees beside Louis, and eyes her dad, tenderly grabs his chin, pulling his head forward. “Yeah that’s a deep cut, it’s gonna need sutures.” Kyra says, hand absorbing Harry’s blood. “Can you grab a wet cloth?” Her thumb applies pressure to his bottom lip, then cautiously parts the top and bottom, sucking in sharply at the amount of blood in his mouth. “Oh, that’s not good dad.”

Louis stands, wetting a wad of paper towel drawn from the automatic dispenser, then takes a knee, holding it to Harry’s mouth as soon as Kyra moves her hand. He cradles Harry’s jaw, tilting his head to drain the blood. “Let’s get you cleaned up a little, eh babes?”

“How hard did he come down?” Kyra asks.

“You’re okay, love.” Louis brushes Harry’s hair off his face with one hand while his other applies pressure to his mouth. “Don’t really know, but from what I managed to see, really hard. I turned my back for a second, and he fell.”

“Why did you come in here anyways?”

“Said his leg was hurting worse than usual, and you know how your dad gets, his hands were shaking, couldn’t even hold his glass. I helped him take an injection, thinking it would calm his system.”

Kyra nods her head, then parts his hair, observing the welt from where he presumably hit his head. “He's gonna have to go to hospital.” she says.

“I figured as much.” Louis replies, brushing the pad of his thumb along Harry’s jawline. “I’ll take him as soon as he comes to.”

Kyra listens to Louis, nodding as she says, “Right, I can drive”.

Harry’s eyelids start to twitch which is a good indicator of his crossing the barrier from unconsciousness into consciousness. Though, coherency is another step, often taking a longer period of time to achieve in comparison to responsiveness.

“No.”

“No? I beg your pardon?” Kyra raises her eyebrows, staring at her papa with a unamused look.

One thing Louis is exceedingly good at is his show of animosity. Frankly, it’s a quality Kyra also possesses, making the two of them equally as stubborn and concise. “You’re gonna stay here and enjoy your own bloody wedding, Kyra Marie. I can handle your father.” Louis argues, hand moving to hold Harry’s cheek rather than the underside of his jaw.

She scoffs, peering off to the side as she carefully chooses her words. “He’s my dad.” she states, boldly, meeting Louis’ eyes. “I want to help him.”

“I know you do, but this is your day, and I don’t want us to ruin it any more for you, darling.” he says, truthful.

“You haven’t ruined anything.” Kyra whispers, shaking her head. “Not a damn thing, okay? Don’t be foolish. I- I won’t be able to have a good rest of my night, knowing I didn’t help to my fullest potential, and we have the hall for a long while yet. And Vicki will understand, so let me help.”

Louis breathes out a heavy sigh, refusing to speak for a few moments. “Fine.”

A little while passes, Kyra and Louis sit in comfortable silence, but finally a moan leaves Harry’s mouth. He opens his eyes, though they roll as if he’s struggling to find focus, which he potentially is. Only a tiny area of white and a smudge of his green irises show as his eyes appear only as slits.

“Hey.” Louis whispers, flipping his hand over so his knuckles brush against Harry’s clammy flesh. Harry doesn’t respond, moving his head - which is now propped up on Louis’ thigh - and tries moving his lips together, despite Louis’ finger acting as a barrier between top and bottom. “It’s alright baby. Do you know where you are?”

Harry doesn’t say a word, instead staring up at Louis. With one hand, he grabs at Louis’ forearm, fingers fumbling as he tries to hold on to him. Louis doesn’t interfere, allowing Harry to do whatever it is he needs to. “Do you know where you are, love?” he asks again, after Harry grasps his arm, though it’s extremely weak. He doesn’t want Louis’ thumb in his mouth, but it’ll have to stay that way until he can put pressure on the wound himself.

Again, Harry doesn’t respond, still not alert enough to rationalize the words Louis is uttering to him. Louis imagines his voice sounds like a jumble of obscure sounds.

He adjusts his head again, gazing around the bathroom with a look of bewilderment, then he starts coughing, indicating he may be having trouble breathing. “Shh, it’s okay darling, it’s okay, shh, let’s get you sitting up, love.”

Kyra instantly leans in. “Do you need a hand?”

“No I’ve got him.” Hooking one arm underneath him, Louis tenderly helps him sit up, knees drawn upward ever so slightly, then shifts so Harry can lean back against him. Blatantly, he has to remove his finger from between Harry’s lips, and as soon as he does, Harry’s coughing intensifies, and blood and saliva start dripping down his chin. “Shh, you’re okay, Kyra grab some more paper towel.” Louis runs his hand through Harry’s hair, keeping it brushed out of his face as Harry’s body rocks forward. “It’s alright babes, it’s alright, try to get it all out.”

Kyra doesn’t bother handing the paper towel over to Louis as it seems he’s a bit too preoccupied with consoling Harry, so she wipes at his lips. She swears a flash of recognition crosses his eyes, but it disappears after he teeters forward with another explosive cough. “It’s okay, dad.”

Eventually, the abrasiveness of his coughs causes his body to lurch forward and he vomits. “Calm down love, it’s alright H. You’re gonna hurt yourself, relax.” Louis whispers, unbothered by the sight and smell of puke. Although, there isn’t much substance to it anyways, considering Harry doesn’t eat much of anything. “Shh, it’s okay.” he whispers, shifting his hand to rub circles along his back, drenched with sweat.

After the thorough coughing fit and vomiting, Harry leans back against Louis, head lolling against his neck. “Harry love, do you know who I am?” he whispers, kissing the top of his head.

Harry twists his head to get a good look, observing Louis’ facial structure, and slaps a hand against his face, clutching his cheek. Louis bites back a whimper, understanding Harry doesn’t mean to be so rough, and instead raises his chin, so Harry can get a good glance. “Do you know who I am?” he repeats.

“Huh…” Harry starts to say, and just as Louis begins to repeat his question, Harry caps off the thought by uttering, “ba.”

“Good job love, I’m your husband,” he confirms, feverishly tucking Harry’s hair behind his ear. “But do you know what my name is?”

Harry nods.

“What is it?”

A moment passes, and Harry thinks it over for a minute. “It’s okay if you don’t know.” Louis reminds.

Harry coughs once, shaking his head, “Lou.”

“Yeah.” Louis offers him a smile, kissing his forehead, “and do you know who that is?” he asks, pointing to Kyra.

Harry doesn’t say a word, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to solve the puzzle that is her facial structure, big brown eyes and petite nose and all.

“That’s our daughter, Kyra.” Louis explains, though Harry doesn’t retain a word of it, continuing to glare at her.

Nevertheless Kyra smiles at him, touches his shoulder, and squeezes. “It’s alright dad, no hard feelings I understand.” she looks to Louis after. “Should we try to get him up?”

“Yeah, but I can tell you right now, he’s not gonna be able to stand, let alone walk. Especially not since his leg was hurting him before this.” Louis sighs, smiling weakly at Harry when the younger man stares at him, perplexed. “Give me a hand standing him up?”

Given that Kyra is a paramedic, leaning towards becoming a firefighter, she’s strong. While her muscles are quite defined, she’s also tall, an inch taller than Louis, but not quite as tall as Harry. Both things are advantages when it comes to working as an emergency medical technician.

“Of course.” she rises to her feet, waits for Louis to do the same, and each of them takes an arm, draping it around their shoulders.

“We’ve got you love, you’re okay.” Louis says, softly, as he lifts with his legs. To neither of their surprise, Harry’s knees give, and their sheer strength is what keeps him from smacking his face off the countertop, again. “It’s alright, H, get your footing.”

He doesn’t manage to plant his feet into the floor, so Louis and Kyra have to carry his dead weight anyway. She suggests walking out the back way, so they don’t draw any unnecessary attention since people enjoy staring at tragedy, as long as it doesn’t involve something they care about.

The drive to the hospital isn’t long, nor is it too grueling. Kyra drives while Louis sits in the backseat, holding a wet piece of paper towel to Harry’s lip. The bleeding has slowed, but pressure helps to clot.

She pulls into a spot close to the entrance of the Accident and Emergency area, and speaks to the guard outside, who seems to recognize her. Not even a few minutes later, she’s returning to the car with a wheelchair, and Louis helps her prop Harry into it.

“It isn’t urgent.” Kyra tells the nurse on duty when they walk through the front doors. “My dad had a seizure and fell. The impact caused his teeth to go through his lip, he needs sutures.”

The older woman takes a look for herself, though Harry tries smacking her hands away. “Right you are Kyra. Nice work, so I’ll take him back there and get him all stitched up. Is there anything I should know? Is he aggressive postictal?”

“No.” Louis replies, and the nurse makes a mental note of it. She smiles at Harry, then grabs the wheelchair, steering him to a room separate from the rest of the hospital by a curtain barrier.

After the nurse disappears with Harry, Louis has a seat on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs and looks up at Kyra. “I’m sorry about your wedding day.”

“Don’t be.” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “I didn’t miss out on anything. The ceremony went well, the reception went well, my parents walked me down the aisle, we had cake, and I had my dance. There’s nothing to be upset about. I’ll still have my honeymoon after this.”

Louis smiles, weakly. “I’m proud of the woman you’ve become.”

“But I’m serious, you know? I know dad’s gonna be upset when he loses the bout of confusion, but he shouldn’t be. I’m tired of being upset over something that will never change.”

“Your dad, after all these years, has reached that point in his life, too, and I’m proud of the both of you for it.”

Kyra sits beside him. “What it must be like to be an inspiration to everyone but yourself.”

“What do you mean by that, Ky?”

“An inspiration to the world. Women, men, your own children, your husband, but never to yourself. What does he derive from it?” she asks, curiously.

“Well, there’s a difference. His disorder isn’t what inspires me, it’s his character, and the same goes for you, who he is inspires you. His qualities and traits as a person inspire the world. His talent inspires the world. But for himself, epilepsy, the disorder itself, inspires him to do great things. You’re looking at two very different perspectives.”

Kyra thinks it over for a moment. “You’re right.” Before Louis has the chance to say anything else, Kyra’s phone buzzes with a text from Victoria. “Shit, she’s asking about my whereabouts.”

“Go, have fun. You’ve got a bit of blood on you, so take my jacket, and enjoy your day.” he declares, pulling his suit jacket off.

“But what about -”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Louis interrupts, raising his eyebrows. “He’s gonna be just fine. A bit bruised and mangled, but fine. You have no reason to stay here. We’ll get a taxi.”

“I love you papa, thank you.” Kyra whispers, taking his jacket and kissing his cheek, and leaves the hospital.

Some time passes, then he’s being summoned by a nurse to see Harry. He walks down the hall into the small hospital room and instantaneously smiles at Harry who’s watching a movie with a confused expression. “I see you’re back to being a functioning member of society.” he comments, taking a seat beside the bed.

Harry glances at him, “Fortunately, yes, and I’ve got a new beauty scar, isn’t it pretty?” he asks, pushing his bottom lip out.

“Oh, it’s just darling.” Louis smirks, grabbing Harry’s hand. “You put on quite the show today, Styles.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “What can I say? They said they needed last minute entertainment.”

“You are something else, Harry.”

So, maybe they’re getting old and grey, and their daughters are the epitome of what they once were, but at least they’re doing it together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while, and I debated for a long time with how I wanted to write the next segment. I don't know if there will be anymore epilepsy verse after this (there's always a possibility!) so I wanted to leave it at a semi-positive note? also, there are a lot of divide (ed sheeran) subliminal messages within here lol. feel free to give me a follow on twitter @terrestrialhaz (we can be super cool mutuals!) Thanks again for all your support - kudos, requests, shares, bookmarks, comments - and there will be more to come! much love, emily x


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